


Teach Me

by lauren3210



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-04 00:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4119342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauren3210/pseuds/lauren3210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ve decided to help you out,” Draco had said earlier that evening, plonking himself down on the sofa next to Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teach Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indyonblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indyonblue/gifts).



> Written for the [dracomalfoy LJ comm](http://dracomalfoy.livejournal.com/) for [This Prompt:](http://dracomalfoy.livejournal.com/989.html?thread=9437#t9437) Draco introduces Harry to strip poker.
> 
>  **Title:** Teach Me  
>  **Author:** lauren3210  
>  **Pairing(s):** Draco/Harry  
>  **Kink/Trope Featured:** Strip Poker  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Word Count:** 3249  
>  **Warnings:** Nuh-uh, unless thinly veiled reasons to have sex count? Oh, also some British names of various games.  
>  **A/N:** So apparently a little bit of angst always manages to sneak in my stories somewhere, and I can’t write drabbles to save my life? Sorry about that, but I hope y’all enjoy!

Draco was frustrated. It should have been simple; _easy._ Potter wasn’t exactly known for his bluffing abilities, after all. The boy couldn’t keep a blank face if he was stuck in a _petrificus totalus_ for fuck’s sake - and Draco should know; he’d put the Gryffindor in the full body bind more than once, before the eighth years had finally called a truce. Even frozen stiff, Potter somehow still managed to convey amused disdain and a promise of retribution.

The truce had been going on for months, ever since a healthy application of Odgen’s finest had managed to smooth the tension and turned the occupants of the eighth year common room into a bunch of giggling idiots. Shots had been fired across the houses, the inebriation making them sound like jokes rather than poisonous barbs, and by the time they’d all woken up the following morning to a collective hangover, there’d been nothing to get worked up about, nothing left to keep them at each others’ throats. The hexes and jinxes thrown across the common room had stopped, and in their place games evenings had become a daily practise.

Draco had thought he’d be a shoo in for the chess tournament - he’d always had the best strategic mind in Slytherin - but Weasley had beaten him out in less than a dozen moves. Boggle had been next, but of course, Granger had absolutely thrashed him, much to the Gryffindors’ delight. He’d refused to play Twister, because writhing around on a plastic mat was _not_ his idea of a good time (and also because Goldstein kept trying to pinch his bum), and Cluedo had been a complete disaster, mainly due to Blaise’s tendency to cheat and peek at the cards. And then someone had come up with the idea of card games.

“I don’t know all that many,” Potter had said, when the idea had first been brought up.

“What do you mean?” One of the Hufflepuffs had asked, looking aghast. “I thought you grew up Muggle?”

“I _grew up_ in a cupboard,” Potter had replied with a shrug. “Not much opportunity to learn any kind of games.”

“Alright, easy games first, for all the losers who’ve never learnt any,” Finnigan had said, twirling a newly conjured pack of cards between his fingers. “We’ll go with Pontoon, who’s in?”

Draco had declined, preferring to sit back and watch the confusion of betting and people learning when to stick and when to twist, the yells of outrage when they busted past twenty one. He’d sat back and watched, and he’d planned. Because _here_ was a way for him to _win,_ for what better platform for a Slytherin to use their strengths than with _betting games?_

There _might_ have been another reason why Draco had been so keen, and that reason _might_ have been the thought of a certain green-eyed, black-haired Gryffindor and a certain way of playing a particular card game.

“I’ve decided to help you out,” Draco had said earlier that evening, plonking himself down on the sofa next to Potter.

“If you’re talking about my hair again, Malfoy, I’m telling you for the last time, I _like_ it the way it is.” Potter hadn’t even bothered to look up from his Quidditch magazine.

“No, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that you will forever look like a kneazle has nested in it-”

“Does that mean you’ll stop throwing bottles of conditioner at my head in the mornings?”

“-but that wasn’t what I was talking about.”

Potter finally looked up, an eyebrow raised. “Alright, I’ll bite. What do you think I need help with?”

“Card games,” Draco had replied, smug grin firmly in place. “More specifically: how to _win_ at card games.”

The eyebrow hadn’t moved. “You know how to play Blackjack?”

Draco did, as a matter of fact, know how to play the game everyone was currently playing, but he had bigger stakes in mind. “I was thinking more along the lines of Poker.”

At this, Potter had finally deigned to put down the magazine, and had turned to face Draco fully. “You want to teach me how to play Poker.”

Draco had shrugged, affecting indifference. “The others’ll get round to it eventually, so if I start teaching you now, you’ll be able to clean up.”

“And why would you want to help me?”

“Because you need it.” Draco had nodded to the scoreboard, which showed quite clearly how much Potter was lagging behind. “And maybe if I help you, you’ll help me.”

Potter’s eyes strayed over to the board, flicking over the list and then stopping, no doubt where Draco’s name currently held fifth place. Draco didn’t want fifth place; he wanted _first._ Cleaning up in the upcoming Poker tournament would help him get there.

“You want to use me as a ringer,” Potter had said, finally understanding.

“But first we have to get you up to speed.” Draco had stood up, already planning how the rest of the night would go. “So, shall we start our first lesson once the common room has cleared out?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

It had been the perfect set up: the common room empty, small piles of leftover sweets from their last trip into Hogsmeade for betting - and snacking, to make sure the piles dwindled quickly - and the room had been comfortably warmed from the fire. As long as Draco made sure to lose the first few ‘teaching’ hands, he had been almost certain that Potter would give in to the idea of _other_ forms of bets. The only way this could possibly have failed had been if Potter had suddenly decided he was a great big _chicken,_ and as he was the consummate Gryffindor, Draco hadn’t been at all worried.

“We’ll start off easy, with Five Card Draw,” Draco said, shuffling the cards quickly. Potter sat down opposite him, and Draco ran his eyes over him once, mentally calculating. Potter wasn’t even wearing any shoes; five losing hands and Draco will have won. In more ways than one. “The ante is five beans.” He threw his handful of Bertie Bott’s into the bowl in the middle.

“What’s the ante again?” Potter picked out beans from his own pile and added them to Draco’s.

“Weren’t you listening when Finnigan and Thomas were explaining the rules of Pontoon?” Draco sighed and dealt out five cards each. “Everyone playing puts the same amount into the pot before looking at the cards. After that, you See, Raise, and Call or Fold.”

“Right, sorry.” Potter picked up his cards and looked at them, frowning. “And I have to make a hand, right?”

“Yes.” Draco indicated the piece of parchment he’d put next to Potter’s stash. “The best hand you can make is a Straight Flush; all the same suit, in numerical order.”

“That sounds unlikely.”

“It is, which is why it’s the best. Then it goes down in order: Four of a Kind, self-explanatory; Full House-”

“Yes, thank you, I _can_ read,” Potter said with a wry smile.

Draco sniffed. “Well, I wasn’t sure. Anyway,” he nodded at the cards in Potter’s hand, “In Five Card Draw, we each get five cards, and we can exchange up to three of them to see if we can make a better hand. With me so far?”

“Yep, I think so.” Potter squinted down at the list and then back to his cards. “I want two, please.”

He chucked two cards face up on the table. The Queen of Hearts and a Nine of Spades. Draco grinned to himself, even though he groaned out loud for effect. “You might want to keep hold of the higher cards in future.” He dealt Potter two more from the deck, and exchanged one of his own.

“Oh.”

“That’s okay, I’ll teach you, and you’ll get it.”

“Now we bet, right?” Potter shuffled his cards around, first one way, then the other. He clearly didn’t have a clue what he was doing.

Draco smiled. “Yes.” he looked down at his own cards. He had Two Pair; sevens and threes. “I bet you a chocolate frog.”

Potter bit his lip, gaze flicking from his cards to the list and back again. “I er, _See_ your frog, and I’ll raise you a liquorice wand.”

“Call,” Draco said. He wanted to Potter to win; his plan wouldn’t work if he let Potter bet too much. He laid down his cards, and gave Potter a moment to work it out.

“That’s Two Pair, right?”

Draco nodded. Potter laid down his own hand. Draco stared in disbelief. Three eights. “Wow, Potter, you’re not as bad at this as I thought you would be.”

Potter smiled, almost shyly, and Draco was entranced by the light shade of pink on his cheeks. “Beginners luck. I got two of them when I exchanged.”

“Okay, let’s go again. Ante up.”

It didn’t take Draco long to make sure that their sweet piles ran out fairly quickly. He’d let Potter bet big and then fold on one hand, and then win most of it back so that he could _eat_ it instead of using it to make bets. He did it over and over, until all he had left in his pile were a few grey coloured beans. Potter’s own pile was much larger. Draco looked down at them forlornly.

“I don’t think I even have enough left for the ante.”

Potter gestured to his own stack. “I’ll lend you some.”

“No, no, you won those fair and square,” Draco protested, , trying not to smirk. It was going so _perfectly._

Potter rolled his eyes and laughed. “I’m sure you let me win a few times, I’d just be paying you back.”

“Why would I do that?”

Potter snorted, and Draco raised his hands in surrender. “No, really. You’re much better at this than I thought you’d be.”

Draco was lying; Potter was _terrible._ He couldn’t make a hand without referring to the list and, as expected, he couldn’t bluff to save his life. It had been painfully easy for Draco to tell when Potter had a good hand - his eyes lit up and he practically danced in his chair.

“We could bet with something else instead?”

Draco hid his grin and hummed at the suggestion, making a show of looking around the room. “Well… I guess we could play Strip Poker?”

Potter raised his eyebrows. “You mean, bet with our _clothes?”_

Draco leaned over the table. “Scared, Potter?”

Potter snorted, then gave a reluctant grin. “Fine. Socks for the ante?”

“Until one of us runs out,” Draco agreed.

And that’s when everything went to hell.

“How is this even possible?” Draco muttered to himself, resentfully undoing his trousers and standing up to pull them off. He’d been wearing at least three more items of clothing than Potter had been, and yet here he was, down to just his silk boxers, while Potter sat back smugly with only one bare foot.

“Maybe we could try reshuffling the deck?” Potter offered, taking the trousers from Draco and laying them over the arm of his squashy armchair. He had one of his own and both of Draco’s socks in his lap, Draco’s t shirt and jumper slung around his neck. Draco’s shoes were sitting by his feet.

“Not much point now,” Draco grumbled, glaring down at the hands spread across the table. He’d been so sure he was going to win with that Two Pair, but then Potter had put down that Flush. “The game’s over.” He tried not to sound too dejected, but it was hard. This was the exact opposite to what he had thought would happen.

He’d thought he would finally get the chance to see Potter naked.

“I’m pretty sure the game’s not over until one of us has _nothing_ to bet with any more,” Potter said.

Draco looked up, startled. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Potter smiled cheekily. “Scared, Malfoy?”

“Fine,” Draco said through his teeth, and sat back down. “But we’re not putting anything in for the ante this round.”

“Fair enough.”

Draco gathered the deck together and dealt out one last hand. This was it; he was either going to win back a piece of clothing and bow out with his dignity intact, or he was going to lose every ounce of self-respect he’d been left with after the last few years. _Frustrated_ didn’t even begin to describe how he was feeling.

They exchanged cards and Draco began to feel his spirits lighten. He had a Flush, and the high card was an Ace. _No way_ could Potter beat _that._

“Okay,” he said finally, after watching Potter shuffle his cards back and forth for the seventh time. He was obviously confused; he definitely had a bad hand. “We can’t do the betting properly this hand, so how about this: You win, and you get my boxers.”

“They _would_ match my eyes,” Potter said.

Draco looked down and winced; they were in fact a deep emerald green colour. “If _I_ win, however, _you_ have to strip down to just your boxers too.”

Potter watched him thoughtfully for a moment, and then went back to staring at his cards. He bit his lip and then nodded. “Okay, deal.”

Draco had to hide a victorious grin. Potter was _so_ trying to bluff; Draco had this in the bag.

He laid his cards down with a snap. “Ace high Flush.”

Potter nodded at them. “That’s a good hand.” He frowned down at his own cards. “I’m not sure what I’ve got, it’s like two different hands, look.”

He set down three cards, and Draco looked at them. Three Kings. A good hand, but it didn’t beat his Flush.

“But what do I do with these?” Potter asked, and then laid down his last two cards.

Draco stared. He blinked, and stared again, but the cards were still the same. _Two fucking Aces._

“But that’s…” He stuttered, mouth opening and closing. “No, you _can’t_... That’s a Full House!”

“Oh, is it?”

Draco stopped poking at the cards in a desperate hope that he was seeing things, because there was something _off_ about Potter’s voice. It sounded… a little _too_ innocent.

He looked up to find Potter already grinning at him, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You fucker!” Draco shot up from the table, knocking his chair over backwards. “You said you didn’t know how to play any card games!”

Potter shook his head, laughter colouring his voice. “I said I didn’t know _many._ Poker just happens to be one I _do_ know. Me and Ron played it a lot when we were stuck in the tent last year.”

“So why did you agree to me teaching you?”

Potter shrugged. “You’re a Slytherin. I figured Strip Poker would be mentioned at some point. It seemed like a great opportunity.”

Draco’s stomach sank to the floor, and he blinked rapidly, trying to soothe the sting in his eyes. “I see. You wanted to laugh at me.” He rubbed his palms down his suddenly goose-pimpled arms.

Potter smoothed a hand over his face to stop his giggles. “Trust me, Malfoy, _that_ is the one thing that I’m _not_ laughing at.”

His eyes ran hotly over Draco’s body, and Draco felt as though he could feel his gaze all over his bare skin.

“Oh.”

Potter smiled at him. “Yeah. _Oh.”_

Draco shoved the table out of the way and crowded up against Potter’s spread knees. He pulled the haphazard pile of clothes off of Potter’s lap and threw them to the floor, revealing just how much Potter _wasn’t_ laughing.

“Oh,” he said again.

“Yeah,” Potter breathed, his gaze caught on the rapidly growing bulge in the front of Draco’s boxers.

Draco leaned down to rifle through his trousers. “You lied to me. That’s cheating.” he pointed his wand at Potter. “I think I should rectify the situation.”

A whispered spell and then Potter was as bare as Draco, sitting in his chair in nothing but his plain black cotton boxers.

“Much better,” Draco murmured, and then kneed his way onto the chair, straddling Potter’s thighs. The first brush of their chests together made them both shiver, and then Potter’s arms were snaking around Draco’s waist, pulling him closer. “Was this what you were hoping would come out of playing Strip Poker?”

“Actually,” Potter whispered, palms skimming over Draco’s back, fingers slipping into his hair, “I was thinking more along the lines of _this.”_ Then he pulled Draco down and kissed him.

The kiss was open mouthed and sloppy, hot and wet and too much teeth and absolutely _perfect._ Draco steadied himself with one hand on Potter’s shoulder, other hand sliding in between their stomachs. He followed the trail of dark hair from Potter’s belly button, fingers plucking at the waistband of his boxers. He felt Potter’s hand join his, thighs tensing beneath him as Potter shoved at their last articles of clothing. Draco felt cool air on his cock a split second before it collided with Potter’s, silky heat and firm hardness sliding against him and sending tingles up and down his spine. He moaned into Potter’s mouth and broke the kiss, bringing his hand up to lick over the palm. Potter choked on a groan and copied him, pressing their foreheads together so that they could both look down between them.

They reached for each other at the same time, knuckles bumping and knocking them off course. Potter chuckled and grabbed Draco’s hand instead, wrapping his fingers slowly and deliberately around them both.

“Do you know how distracting it was, watching you deal the cards with these hands?” Potter whispered, not taking his eyes away from where Draco was slowly pumping his hand.

“Probably as distracting as you biting your lip,” Draco replied, tilting his chin to catch said lip between his own.

Potter’s hand closed over the top of his own and deepened the kiss, and together they fucked up into the channel created by their joined hands. Draco felt precome slipping down over their knuckles, Potter’s fingers sliding between his own. Their pace quickened, neither of them able to last much longer, kiss changing into breaths being shared, until finally Potter groaned deep in his throat. Come coated Draco’s fingers, hot and sticky and smelling like _Potter,_ and Draco bit down on Potter’s bottom lip as he came hard. Their hands came to a slow stop, fingers still tangled and now covered in their releases, lips still connected.

“Wow,” Potter mumbled into Draco’s mouth, and Draco hummed in response. “We should play Poker more often.”

Draco snorted. “You just like seeing me lose.”

“That _was_ a lot of fun,” Potter agreed. He kissed Draco again. “But I think I prefer the end.”

“I have an idea.” Draco found his wand and cleaned them both up with a quick spell. “How about we go upstairs, and _you_ can teach _me_ how to play?” Potter smiled.

“Sounds like a plan.”

 

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> (Fun fact: Harry is literally me in this story - this is how I first got to see my husband naked :D)


End file.
